


A Love Like This

by DrowningByDegrees



Series: Music Prompts [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: But Jaskier gets it anyway, Communication, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Sort Of, Words are hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees/pseuds/DrowningByDegrees
Summary: Jaskier does nothing quietly. He is bright colors and endless conversation. He is music and theatrics. He unapologetically takes up space, bold and loud and impossible to ignore. Jaskier does nothing quietly.Except for this.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Music Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026994
Comments: 23
Kudos: 233





	A Love Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [music prompt list.](https://drowningbydegrees.tumblr.com/post/635071866489438208/music-related-writing-prompts)
> 
> 4\. dolce (Italian: sweet)  
>  _Sweet or sweetly_
> 
> Thank you so much [CousinCecily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CousinCecily) for betaing this on such short notice! I always really value your input. <3 <3 <3

Jaskier does nothing quietly. He is bright colors and endless conversation. He is music and theatrics. He unapologetically takes up space, bold and loud and impossible to ignore. Jaskier does nothing quietly. 

Except for this. 

It’s the early hours of the morning, three days late, when Geralt makes his way back to the inn. Before he even reaches their room, he spots the flickering light of a candle under the door. He opens the door quietly, allowing himself to think Jaskier dozed off writing again, but Jaskier is doing no such thing. He is sitting on the bed, stripped down to his chemise and smallclothes, miles away from anything like slumber. 

"I wasn't sure when you were coming back." Jaskier crosses the room by the time Geralt gets the door closed, his voice hushed. The ‘I wasn’t sure _if_ you were coming back’ hangs silently between them, but neither of them give the sentiment any room to breathe. He sets to work unfastening Geralt's armor with a deftness born of having done it a hundred times. It's hard to say when Jaskier learned to suss out what fatigue looks like on Geralt, but there’s rarely any hiding it now. Geralt knows. He has _tried_. 

"I'm not hurt." It's a token protest as his gaze shifts to follow Jaskier’s hands as they skim his shirt sleeves down to his vambraces. There are no wounds to bind and Geralt does not need this, but they both know he'll silently acquiesce to Jaskier's tenderness here.

“Mmm,” Jaskier acknowledges and keeps right on, setting armor pieces aside with just enough care that Geralt can’t quite justify grouching about it. Before long, the breastplate is gone too, replaced by Jaskier’s arms wound around him. “Better?”

The question cracks whatever composure Geralt is holding onto. His hands find their way to Jaskier’s back of their own accord, like they’ve always belonged there. Burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, Geralt mumbles what would have been a damning confession once. Now it comes easily, as easily as words ever do anyway. “Missed you.” 

“Yes, well you can miss me even less if you take off your damned boots and come to bed,” Jaskier grouses, the effect ruined by the kiss he presses to Geralt’s temple while extracting himself from their embrace. 

Geralt is just tired enough that the absurdity of that statement only catches up with him when he’s got one boot off and the other halfway there. He huffs out an amused sort of sound as Jaskier snuggles into the blankets and pulls back one side for him. “That’s not how missing people works.” 

“Excuse me. Who is the feelings expert here? Whose entire livelihood is built in a faithful orbit around the complexities of love and devotion and-” Jaskier’s rant cuts off with a satisfying ‘mph’ sound when Geralt flops down on his side of the bed and leans in to press a kiss to the bard’s lips. 

There are nights where kissing is a punctuation of something else, where Jaskier’s fingertips are fire licking down his spine, and Geralt can feel himself unraveling as teeth scrape across his bottom lip. There are times when Jaskier welcomes him back and he can’t think, can hardly _breathe_ in the face of how much he wants. But this is nothing like that. Instead, it’s a quiet sort of affection carved into a life that made no room for it. Jaskier withdraws enough to murmur against Geralt’s lips, “Yes alright, _fine_. I missed you too.”

Geralt had always sort of assumed Jaskier would love the way he does everything else — in grand gestures and pageantry — and sometimes the bard does. But there’s this too, the two of them curled up together without a soul to see the way Geralt melts under the soothing cadence of Jaskier’s fingers dragging through his hair. There are overwrought declarations caught up in Jaskier’s songs that simultaneously squeeze around Geralt’s heart and make him want to melt through the floor, but _this_ is what feels like the truth. 

Close as they are, it’s clear that Jaskier is as tired as he is. The evidence lives in the dark smudges beneath his brilliant blue eyes, in the slight lethargy that Geralt can’t assign to any specific action, but is there all the same. Absently, Geralt wonders how long Jaskier stayed up last night, and the night before, worrying over his absence.

“Shh,” Jaskier says with a softness he only ever seems to reserve for Geralt. It’s accompanied by Jaskier’s nails scratching pleasantly at the nape of Geralt’s neck.

“I didn’t say anything.” 

He feels Jaskier laugh as much as hears it. “You may as well have, as loudly as you were thinking.”

“I-” There are words he means to say, but his mouth refuses to take the shape of them. An honest sentiment shouldn’t be so difficult, but it sticks to the roof of his mouth like molasses. One day he hopes it will be simple, but for now he leans into the quiet and wills for Jaskier to somehow hear him anyway. 

“I _missed_ you,” he says again, because that at least will come. There’s a steady pulse against the heel of Geralt’s hand when he cradles the side of Jaskier’s neck. There are fingers under the fabric of his shirt, traversing scars old and new with a reverence that makes Geralt feel a little undone. There is a home where Geralt never realized he was lacking one.

“I know.” Jaskier swallows like something is caught in his throat. He blinks furiously and Geralt thinks his eyes might be a little too bright, but the smile he gives the witcher dispels any notion of sadness. Geralt doesn’t get much of a chance to appreciate it before Jaskier folds around him like he’s the one of the two of them who needs protecting. Jaskier’s forehead presses against Geralt’s, leaving them too near to see anything anymore. It’s barely more than a whisper that reaches Geralt’s ears, “Oh Geralt. I know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi! You can find me [on Tumblr](https://drowningbydegrees.tumblr.com/) or [ this one](https://drowningbydegrees-fanworks.tumblr.com/) if you're only interested in fanworks.  
> Sometimes, I also exist on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/DrownByDegrees)  
> 


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